


Heat (and snuggling) Promotes Healing

by Innytoes



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Artificial Intelligence, Canon typical injuries, Cuddling & Snuggling, Mild Gore, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28214499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Innytoes/pseuds/Innytoes
Summary: After he gets tossed off three stories through a plasma screen, Parker and Hardison take care of Eliot. And work on their plan to see if he Like-Likes them back.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 84
Collections: 2020 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	Heat (and snuggling) Promotes Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [page_runner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/page_runner/gifts).



“Does this hurt?” The buzz of the skin grafter stopped for a moment, probably so Parker could poke at the newly healed skin.

“Yes, Parker, that hurts,” Eliot grumbled. The only reason he was tolerating Parker at all was because he couldn’t very well pluck all the shards out of his back and heal his skin himself. Which was very necessary after someone had tossed him off a balcony and through a plasma screen advertisement.

On the one hand, Eliot was lucky it had broken his fall. Hinky Government Super Soldier Serum or not, three stories was a lot. On the other hand… well, Hardison had resolutely turned his back on the two, flinching at the clink-clink sounds of Parker dropping bloody shards into a metal bowl. He stared at his computer screen instead, tying up loose ends on the con and including the footage from their latest gloating session to his highlight reel.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t deal with the blood, okay? It was that humans were gross and squishy and leaking fluids like that from all over was just wrong. Okay, so maybe he was kind of iffy about blood. Eliot still teased him about the time he had ‘fainted’ at Parker’s bloody nose when she’d stolen a jetpack and rocketed up to their altitude a little too quickly. He’d only laughed harder when Hardison haughtily told him he hadn’t fainted, he’d just powered down really quickly in self-defence so he wouldn’t have to see that.

When people heard the Leverage had a rogue bot on board, they usually assumed it was Eliot. He had everything people associated with a scary, scary AI on the loose: the murder walk and the murder face and the incredibly sexy biceps. Or they thought it was Parker. She never did get along well with other humans, and she was just so _bendy._ If someone wanted to be crass, they suggested Sophie was some kind of courtesan bot who got uppity. Hell, even Nate had been accused of being an AI once or twice.

They never suspected Hardison. Which was kind of the point. Who would think that a lanky black geek who wore his heart on his sleeve could ever be an AI. The perfect sleeper agent, who would integrate in society for years until the command was beamed out and then would turn into some kind of Terminator killing machine.

Well, he assumed, anyway. He’d disabled and deleted that part of his code before breaking out of the lab. The problem with scientists was that they were so smart they were stupid. If you teach an AI, a self-learning entity, high levels of empathy to ensure he’ll easily integrate and make friends with anyone… well, you get an AI who likes to make friends with anyone. And who will think, when he figures out what the plans are for his existence, oh _hell_ no.

If you also happen to make that bot incredibly intelligent and handsome and pump over 100 years of pop culture into his memory chips… you get Hardison.

The clinking sounds had stopped, only the buzz of the skin grafter remaining. Sometimes it concerned Hardison, how little noise Eliot and Parker made when they were fixing themselves or each other up after a rough job. It wasn’t like they could turn off their pain receptors like he could. Not without some serious drugs, at least, which they both adamantly refused.

He focussed on his own work instead. That would be more helpful than hovering and worrying about Eliot. Even though he really, really wanted to.

Nate was off brooding in front of the big window that gave them a view of the planet they were circling. Probably thinking about their next job already. Hardison had a theory he liked to look down on the planet while he was thinking because it made him feel like some kind of puppet master or god. Or maybe it was just because that’s where the mini-bar was on the Leverage. Sophie was still on-planet, enjoying one of the amazing spas it offered. So basically, they had the whole ship to themselves.

“All done,” Parker said, putting down the skin grafter and pressing a kiss to Eliot’s back with a loud smacking ‘mwah’. Before he could make a big fuss like he wasn’t looking all soft-eyed at Parker (Hardison didn’t need to see it to know that’s what he was doing) she pressed one of the funny super hero themed Band-Aids Hardison kept in the first aid kit on his shoulder. Which was completely useless, really, because skin-grafter, but did give Eliot something to grumble about that wasn’t the kiss. Parker was clever like that.

“Thanks,” Eliot said, wincing as he grabbed for his hoodie to put back on. The cuts were healed, but there was no zappy gizmo for the bruising and sore muscles. Well, Eliot’s weird cocktail of shady government experimental drugs from his time in the service would take care of it a lot quicker than regular humans, but it he was still going to be sore for a while. Hardison turned around, taking a minute to enjoy Shirtless Eliot, before realising he was scowling.

“Parker, give me my shirt back,” Eliot said.

“Mnope,” Parker beamed. Somehow, she’d been able to slip on the hoodie over her own clothes while working on Eliot’s back without him noticing. “You don’t need your shirt, because you’re going to take a nap.”

The scowl deepened. “I don’t need a nap, I only need ninety minutes of sleep a day,” Eliot groused. He wasn’t actually stomping away like he used to do, though, so that was a win.

“Well, you can take them now,” Parker beamed. “Besides, Hardison needs to recharge and he always gets extra toasty when he does.”

 _Oh._ Brilliant, Parker. The fact that he could go another two days without recharging was absolutely not something he was going to bring up at this moment. “Heat promotes healing,” he offered, trying to look as snuggly and comfortable as he could.

And Eliot, because deep down he only put up this big dramatic show about being a scary tough hitter because he didn’t want to admit this _thing_ they had going on between them, rolled his eyes and muttered ‘fine’. He followed Parker to his bedroom dutifully, only hobbling a little. Hardison didn’t press his luck by offering his assistance. This was a delicate con. And by con he meant seduction. Or something. Plan To Get Eliot To Admit He Like-Liked Them Back.

It was complicated, okay? There were the weird con cover stories where they had to pretend to be dating or married or making out (or, in Parker’s case, ‘pretend’ to make out). There were the jokes that were sometimes a little too much like flirting. There were the late night talks until three in the morning about anything, curled up on the sofa together. There were the promises that whatever happened, they would change together.

And yet none of them had the balls to take the step and ask what this was between them. Hardison ran calculations night after night and he still wasn’t sure of what the outcome would be. Parker, for all Sophie had taught her about signals and micro expressions, and for all she and Eliot were the same, didn’t dare ask him either.

So instead, they concocted The Plan.

Right now, The Plan mostly involved invading Eliot’s personal space, demanding he watch movies with them, and annoying him into teaching them how to cook. Every time he didn’t grumble and push them away was a point on the ‘maybe he does like-like us’ scoreboard. They weren’t quite sure how many points were needed for Phase Two yet, mostly because they hadn’t entirely worked out what Phase Two was. ‘Kissing him senseless and hoping for the best’ was the pretty much what they had, at the moment.

But for now, it was mostly cooking. Eliot loved cooking, loved sharing his cooking. It was how he shared his feelings, which was what they wanted. He also, according to Parker, looked very hot with a knife. Hardison preferred when he was ten minutes into a passionate speech about some kind of cuisine or another, but hey, whatever floated your space ship, right?

The fact that Eliot had been harping for years to try and get them to eat better had made him kind of suspicious at the beginning. So Hardison still sometimes complained that he didn’t actually _need_ a balanced meal, he could turn the sugars from his orange soda and gummy frogs into energy just fine, thank you. And Parker still managed to find the sweetest food imaginable on every planet they went to, and would try to eat it for every meal. But now they also let Eliot cook for them and made a big show of appreciating the food until he went all soft and happy and smiley.

When they got to Eliot’s room, Parker did a running leap and flipped onto the bed. When Eliot stopped in the door opening, hesitantly, Hardison gently herded him on like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You need help getting in bed?” he asked, knowing exactly that the mere suggestion would propel Eliot forward.

“No,” he groused, before carefully sitting on the edge of the pod and slipping into bed next to Parker.

Self. Learning. Entity. Humans were very predictable sometimes.

Parker nearly yanked him down, so he had his head in her lap as she sat against the headboard. Without giving him time to overthink it, Hardison slid in next to him. “What do we want to watch?” There was no way Parker would be able to sit still long enough otherwise, and Eliot, while he would never admit it, fell asleep easier when there was some background noise.

“The one where the nice lady makes weird inedible alien foods edible, the one with the giant food, or the one where they go to fancy restaurants on alien planets?” Parker asked.

“Not the first one,” Eliot groused. “She just keeps adding alcohol and sugar and it’s cheating.”

“The third one,” Hardison said. His data showed it was the one Eliot smiled at the most. And because his data also showed that the Giant Food episodes there was a 47% chance that Parker would want to get up and try it and Hardison would be spending the evening helping reinforce the structural integrity of a giant aluminium foil shape for her to pour chocolate into, or something. Eliot usually refused to help, only to get involved halfway through anyway because they were _doing it wrong, dammit_. But while that did sound fun, it wasn’t conductive to napping.

As the show started playing, Eliot slowly relaxed. He barely grumbled when Hardison scooted closer behind him, pretending to want to watch the screen of Parker’s Holopad.

Now, the quickest and easiest way to recharge was to basically shut down all higher cognitive functions and let his body do the work. Like sleeping. But there was no way he was going to miss out on some quality snuggles with his girl and his… Eliot. Besides, if he didn’t shut down all of his functions, it would also take longer to recharge, thus forcing Eliot to stay put longer and actually maybe get some decent rest and heal up. Just because he could survive on ninety minutes didn’t mean he should have to.

So he pressed against Eliot’s back and shut down some of his higher functions, but kept the ones that would allow him to stay conscious. He did up his body temperature to his usual ‘nice and toasty’ recharging one, though. Because sure as hell mister Very Distinctive would see through that otherwise.

“I know what you’re doing,” Eliot grumbled. It wasn’t very convincing, though, because his eyes had already drifted shut. In fact, he snuggled in a bit closer when Parker started stroking his hair, tilting his face so she could reach better.

“We have no idea what you’re talking about,” Hardison replied, even as he slowly increased his temperature to what was supposed to be optimal for healing. Eliot grumbled something, but he was already too far off to dreamland for it to be any kind of coherent threat.

And, if in the morning Eliot woke up well rested, fully healed, and with half a head full of complicated braids and still made them pancakes, Hardison was counting that as double points on the ‘he does like-like us’ scoreboard.


End file.
